“A Chance Discovery”/ Poetry by A. Dacosta Brathway

A world I used to be a part of, I now despise/
As I view it with x-ray eyes…
The big slave convention in March
The slave masters watching their charge,
Go through the motions of the order
That lends itself to the broader

Scheme,
Perpetuating the nightmarish dream.

The gods manage from the headmaster’s chair,
The orderlies toting their cross to bear
For their supper.
On scholarship without the academics lends itself to no abrupt fix to a world with any future,
Sends the wandering slave into a drunken stupor
While the master lives, rich, on the plantation,
Preparing the next crop’s orientation.
Increased marching lines with no degree
Unprepared to be
A pillar of strength
When functioning from a deficit disorder
Which makes the problem that much broader.

There is no solution to Vertigo
Unless heavy doses of the prescribed medication are in full effect
Creating the effect of a free fall slow…
Disgraced face
When set to the pace
Of the master’s agenda.
The mindset of March in the psychological castration of a slave mentality gender.


On Inspiration

Who would have thought that
Taking a shit
Would inspire such wit
From an insane brain
As it spiraled down the drain?

TRAPPED/ Poem by A. Dacosta Brathway

Mandingo, slave dick like no other,
Circumcised 9 inch, tripod brother
Ignored the sister for the other…
Danced on the grave of your dead mother.

Confirmed black skin does not think brown,
Spouting lyrics so as not to be clowned,
Wearing that constant, perpetual frown,
Standing straight but trying to get down.

Bullshit artist running a con,
White vagina w/ pubic hair blond,
“I’m going in!” with jimmy cap on,
No DNA trace, my word is bond.

I realize I’ve sealed my fate,
My lines rehearsed to clean my slate,
When I get to the “Pearly Gate”
I hope that I don’t burn in Hate!

I am trapped in my dead skin,
I’ve shunned my race, embarrassed my kin,
I "no" not what a mess I’m in,
I wish that I were born again.

Poetry Corner/ Trapped by A. Dacosta Brathway

Mandingo, slave dick like no other,
Circumcised 9 inch, tripod brother
Ignored the sister for the other…
Danced on the grave of your dead mother.

Confirmed black skin does not think brown,
Spouting lyrics so as not to be clowned,
Wearing that constant, perpetual frown,
Standing straight but trying to get down.

Bullshit artist running a con,
White vagina w/ pubic hair blond,
“I’m going in!” with jimmy cap on,
No DNA trace, my word is bond.

I realize I’ve sealed my fate,
My lines rehearsed to clean my slate,
When I get to the “Pearly Gate”
I hope that I don’t burn in Hate!

I am trapped in my dead skin,
I’ve shunned my race, embarrassed my kin,
I no not what a mess I’m in,
I wish that I were born again…

(c) A. Dacosta Brathway 2002

Poetry Dept: Real Rappers Grab Their Roscoes by A. Dacosta Brathway

Pumped up on pumped out lyrics,
Cause and effect hysterics…
Modern day mind control on
Strapped straphangers...

Hanging...

Vying for protection, and attention
Accessorizing baggy jeans w/ boots and pitbulls,

Platinum crucifixes anointed by false gods,
Preaching rhetoric to the empty domes…

Chickenheads cluck their displeasure about the negative stereotype(s) they perpetuate, while pulling that tight g-string out of their ass.

You need to be schooled so you won’t be ruled by the likeness of the Virginia Laws,
Set in place w/ all its flaws…


“Where ignorance is bliss,’tis folly to be wise,”
Behind the bravado, you can hear the cries!
Amid all the hurt, the ignorance and pain,
“The more things change, the more they remain the same!”

(c) A. Dacosta Brathway, 2005

The Belly of the Beast by A. Dacosta Brathway

A substance takes significant control
As it seeks it’s own level,
The mindful work of the devil.

The dissemblance of the order,
The everyday doings become increasingly harder.

The loss of control,
Under control,
Taking on a significant role.

The creation of the abyss, that never-ending hole,
Altering the state of your disappearing soul.

The emergence of defiance,
The formation of negative alliances…
No guarantee of reliance.

The need for exorcism, to bring you back,
To bring back your soul in tact,
To unravel nerves that has been racked.
To rescue your mind that’s under attack.

All these things, to say the least…
Prey on the mind and hold a feast,
That hold must be broken, a new found release…
It’s Dante’s Inferno, the belly of the beast.
c A. Dacosta Brathway, 2002